


Tell Me What You Hate About Me (whatever it is, i'm sorry)

by withthekeyisking



Series: Com. Fics [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs, Brief Supportive Bruce Wayne, Deepthroating, Hand Jobs, Hurt Jason Todd, Kidnapping, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Off-screen torture, Praise Kink, Protective Dick Grayson, Rated Explicit for the smut, au where soulmates feel each others' pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25836586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Neither Dick nor Jason wanted to discover that they're apparently soulmates. Life was good before the revelation.Unfortunately, the universe has other plans.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: Com. Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872547
Comments: 44
Kudos: 465





	Tell Me What You Hate About Me (whatever it is, i'm sorry)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cirth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirth/gifts).



> Here you are, my dude, as requested! I hope this lives up to what you were hoping for :)
> 
> Title from _Good Things Fall Apart_ by Illenium & Jon Bellion

Dick gets very good at ignoring the buzz at the back of his mind.

Bruce taught him how to shield his mind against telepaths when he was younger, how to create walls to block out foreign presences. And while this isn't _quite_ what Bruce had in mind when teaching him, the concept is the same, and Dick isn't one to ignore an advantage.

And it's not like he's the only one boxing the thoughts away. Jason does it too, Dick knows it. He knows because he can _feel_ it, in the moments when he's exhausted and can't keep his walls up as strong as he'd like to, in the moments where the buzzing at the back of his mind actually takes shape, and he can feel Jason's aches and pains, his anger and sadness—

And how muted the connection is, because Jason's doing his damnedest to block it all out, too.

At least they're on the same page in that regard.

Pretending they're not—well, pretending there's nothing out of the ordinary is made infinitely easier by the fact that the only other people who know the truth are Bruce and Alfred; Bruce is, of course, resolutely pretending he doesn't know anything, and Alfred has enough tact to not press the issue. Plus, he probably knows that pressing is a surefire way to make both Dick and Jason draw back and clam up, which is the last thing the older man wants.

Dick wishes he'd never taken his gloves off four months ago. He wishes he hadn't felt the need to feel the wires more closely as he was diffusing the latest bomb to befall their shitty city. He wishes he hadn't removed his gloves, and that Jason's hadn't been torn to shreds in the fight and thus pulled off. He wishes Jason hadn't offered him a hand up once the danger was done. He wishes he hadn't taken it.

It's funny, really. That he and Jason had never actually touched palms until that moment. That after _years_ of knowing each other and spending time together, it's only just happened now.

And then _boom,_ the sparks everyone writes songs about, the tingling running through his entire body, and the sudden echo of someone else. The echo of someone else's pain, _Jason's_ pain. The sharp sting of a cut along his arm, the dull throb of bruised ribs, the barely-there burning of his legs after having been moving for so long.

And the horror at the discovery of what's happening. Of _Dick_ being his—his _soulmate._

They'd torn apart so fast you could practically see the skid marks.

They haven't talked about it since it happened. They've interacted multiple times; on patrol or cases, even making conversation over dinner when at the Manor, but they're both ignoring what happened like it never did.

Dick doesn't know why. He just knows that now he is very good at ignoring the buzz, and Jason is, too.

Scientists have, for many years, theorized over why soulmates can feel each others' pain—physical and emotional—but not any other feelings. The most widely accepted one is so that you can know when your so-called "other half" is in danger, harkening back to the beginning of time when _'_ _danger'_ meant _'_ _about to be eaten',_ or some shit like that. One of those evolutionary oddities that stuck with people over the years.

Dick thinks it's bullshit, and that the scientists and everyone else in the world are fooling themselves, because sometimes Dick doesn't just feel Jason's pain. Sometimes, when he gets lazy and something creeps through the bond, it isn't a sprained ankle or irritation, it's...pleasure.

He drinks himself into unconsciousness the night he feels Jason's _pleasure_ coming through; the feeling of his wrists aching as someone pinned him to a bed, the rawness of his throat as he groans, the sparks up his spine as the person fucks him just right.

Dick feels it all, far more than he wants to before he's able to close the link off again, and he gets incredibly drunk.

And then the next night, he goes out and picks someone up at a bar.

Overall, Dick really isn't one for one-night stands. It typically doesn't _do_ anything for him; he typically needs an emotional connection before he's able to sleep with someone. But sometimes he needs to not think for a little while, and there's only so much you can drink before causing yourself real harm, and Dick has no interest in letting himself get dragged down that path.

And the really awful thing about feeling this way at all, is that Dick doesn't particularly want Jason as a soulmate any more than apparently Jason wants him. Things have been good between them, between the rest of the family. Dick's been _happy_ with the state of things, with the bond he and Jason had formed.

He doesn't _want_ Jason as a soulmate. That fucks everything up. That makes Jason's smile feel half as warm when he looks at him now, his stories a quarter of the length when telling Dick about something. It's not supposed to be this way.

It's supposed to be easy banter and effortless partnership, like they used to have. Not this half-awkward half-denial thing they've got going on now.

And it's not like Jason's entirely at fault for the tension that now follows them everywhere. Dick knows _he's_ stiff, quieter than usual, less likely to quip with Jason. He doesn't drop by for random movie nights anymore, nor ask Jason to get pizza after patrol.

He would. He—he wants to want his soulmate. He wants to be allowed to love and be loved in return. He's always had stupid fantasies about finding his soulmate one day, and how great that might be. And these last couple years, Jason has been so...Jason. So amazing, in ways the other man barely even notices about himself.

Jason is one of Dick's favorite people in the world, someone he cares about more than almost anyone. He's been so thankful to have Jason in his life, and how close they've been. He never wanted it to end.

But Jason is the one who ran, that day. Who looked at him with wide eyes, whose horror came rushing through the bond. Jason is the one who only begrudgingly rejoined the family, who still would drag his feet at getting involved with them all. Jason is the one Dick is always so afraid of losing.

Jason is the one who doesn't want him at _all,_ and this has only made it a thousand times worse.

Dick wishes he hadn't taken off his gloves. He wishes Jason's hadn't been damaged. He wishes he could go back to what they were before, when Jason would smile at him with bright eyes, unrestrained mirth in a way so few got to see.

He misses Jason. He misses who they were before the universe decided to fuck it all up.

He doesn't want to be Jason's soulmate, if this is what being his soulmate means for the state of things.

So Dick starts sleeping around. It helps him take his mind off of Jason, at least for a little while. If he lets himself get wrapped up in the person fucking him into the mattress then he doesn't have to acknowledge the buzz at the back of his mind or the fact that in the past four months the only texts he gets from the younger man are customary check-ins for missions or patrol.

Dick isn't sure how obvious they've been about the change of things until four months have already gone by and Tim suddenly asks, "So what the hell is going on between you and Jason?"

Dick stares at him for a long moment, eyes just a little too wide, caught off-guard. It's two in the morning and they're both sitting on the ledge of a very tall building. Up until this moment, it's been rather peaceful; Dick's always felt better being up high. Things feel far easier when thousands of feet up in the air.

But no, of course Tim was going to ask eventually. The kid's perceptive, and not one to let problems lie as they are.

"Uh," Dick says rather articulately. Can you blame him? He's been up for almost twenty-four hours by this point, and he's exhausted, which means blocking out the link is much harder. So he can feel the ache of bruises and burning muscles that are completely Jason's, can feel the slight anxiety that comes with a very active patrol, being right in the middle of things.

But Jason hasn't called for backup over the comms, so he's fine. Dick can't go butting in on the other man's case, whatever it may be; Jason wouldn't have appreciated it before, and _definitely_ wouldn't now.

Besides, Dick has no feasible reason to say _"Hey Tim, why don't we check on Jason?"_ He has no excuse for why he would know Jason's having a tough night, nor why he can barely focus on anything except the beating of Jason's heart that he can hear if he concentrates hard enough.

"Earth to Dick?" Tim says, amused, snapping his fingers in front of Dick's face.

Dick offers him the best chagrined smile he can manage. "Sorry, Timmy, zoned out there for a minute. You asked a question?"

Tim frowns at him. "Yes," he says, drawing the word out. "I asked what's going on with you and Jason? Things have been off the last few months."

Once again, Dick doesn't answer Tim, but this time it's for a completely different reason. This time he's gasping for air, because his body is on fire, everything hurts, there's electricity and something striking against his back and he can't breathe, his body seizing—

And then he's weightless. He's falling. The air is whipping through his hair and someone is shouting and the ground is beginning to rush towards him but he can't feel any of it, he can only feel the hoarseness of his throat as he screams, the fire licking across his back with each strike of a whip, the convulsing of his muscles as someone tases him again and again—

Someone slams into him, an arm wrapping around his middle, the jarring jerk of freefall being halted. He wheezes, and he hears the person grunt with pain, and then they're crashing onto a rooftop, rolling a few feet before stopping.

The both of them lie there for a moment, catching their breath.

But Dick can't catch his breath, he can't _breathe_ because they won't stop, they want answers and they don't like him telling them to go fuck themselves and he's screaming again and his shoulder dislocates from the way they have him hanging in the air—

"—wing! Nightwing, can you hear me? Nightwing! Fuck, okay, you're okay. Batman! Come in, Batman! B, there's something wrong with N, he's seizing, he fell off a fucking roof, he's hyperventilating, not responding—what do I—B—what is—"

Dick wishes he could black out. He wishes he didn't have to live this, these conflicting sensations, being on a roof with his brother yelling but also chained up in a basement being tortured and he can't—he can't breathe—

A needle plunges into his neck, and everything blessedly fades away.

* * *

He dreams of Jason.

Jason, cold and alone and in pain and afraid, thinking himself left to be tortured and die in a dirty room, angry with himself for not calling for backup, for not wanting to risk it being Nightwing who came because of course Nightwing would come, he always comes, and fuck what's gonna happen now, he's trapped he doesn't know how to get out of this he's so sorry Dick he's so sorry—

Dick wakes up in the medbay of the batcave. There's a cannula in his nose, an IV in the crook of his arm, and a pulse oximeter on his finger. He's no longer in his suit nor his mask, but his Superman pajama pants and a t-shirt he recognizes as—as Jason's.

"Hey," someone says softly, and Dick looks to the side, seeing Bruce sitting in a chair beside his bed. "How are you feeling?"

Dick thinks about it. All of him aches, his chest and head especially, but it's all just a dull throb. Nothing close to the _torture_ he was feeling before.

"Fine," Dick says, voice coming out weak. "What..."

But he understands now. He wasn't at both places. But _Jason—_

Dick starts to jerk upright, his heart rate jumping instantly, already making plans on how to get out of here. But Bruce is standing in an instant, hands firm on Dick's shoulders as he stops him from throwing himself out of bed.

"Easy—"

"No, I have to go," Dick says, fighting weakly against Bruce's hold. He feels like all of his strength has been sucked right out of him, leaving him as defenseless as a kitten. Absolutely no match for Bruce at the moment.

"You're not going anywhere, Dick. You—"

"Jason's in trouble!" Dick says, the words coming out a little desperate. Not just in trouble; captured, _tortured,_ thinking himself alone somewhere, thinking he's going to die in a dirty basement all alone— "I have to find him!"

"We will find him," Bruce says firmly. He catches Dick's gaze, looking steady and _sure,_ trying to get Dick to understand. "We _will_ find him, but you're in no state."

"Like hell I'm not!" Dick snaps, but he's already exhausted from this brief struggle, already winded. Even if he got Bruce to let him up, he doubts he could keep his feet under him to get more than a few steps. He's in no state.

"He's alone," Dick says, voice hoarse. He looks at Bruce desperately, trying to make _him_ understand. "He thinks we're not coming for him, B, I have to—"

"We will find him," Bruce says again. "You just have to trust us."

Dick doesn't know how to explain that he _can't._ He can't just trust that they'll handle this, that they'll find Jason and help him, save him before it's too late. He can't put this in someone else's hands and just _wait,_ he literally doesn't have it in him. Not while Jason is still in so much danger. Dick won't be able to bear doing nothing and _hoping_ his family can handle this.

Bruce sighs, probably reading all of that clear as day in his expression. "You have to work with me here, Dick. I can't let you out in the field like this."

"I agree," Dick says immediately, because he does, despite much he wants to put on his suit _right now_ and get out there to track Jason down. "But that's not the only way I can help, and you know it. So, please, B, I—I can't do nothing. Please."

Bruce stares at him for a long moment, lips pinching. "If you swear to follow my orders," he says, "then yes, alright, you can help."

Dick's never really been the best at following Bruce's orders, despite what the others like to say. But for this? Yeah, he'll play along. As long as it brings Jason home, he'll follow Bruce's orders to the ends of the Earth.

* * *

There are three more episodes of absolutely blinding pain before they locate Jason.

Dick really isn't any use to them while they search, unable to focus with Jason's pain perpetually at the back of his head, and then completely insensible when the torture starts up again and he feels it all as if it's happening to him, unable to block it out, unwilling to leave Jason alone.

So by the time his family is successful, by the time they learn what case Jason was working and manage to track down the bad guys, Dick is back in the medbay, blinking blearily up at the ceiling far above him, head swimming, body aching.

He wants to go with them more than anything. He wants to at least be able to sit at the batcomputer and monitor the mission. But he can't get his body to listen to him, can't even move without nausea churning his gut.

He just wants Jason to be safe. He wants to see him with his own two eyes, wants to destroy the people who would dare to lay hands on him.

Instead, he's stuck waiting, Jason's exhaustion and pain a constant companion.

Dick doesn't know how much time passes before the batmobile comes zooming back into the cave. Dick sucks in a deep breath and forces himself into a seated position despite how the world spins around him, turning to look.

Bruce has Jason in his arms, Jason's head lolling back. He's struggling weakly, pushing at Bruce in a poor attempt to get away. This close to him, Dick can feel the tiny bursts of pain every time Bruce takes another step forward, armor dragging harshly across the lashes on his back and the electric burns covering his sides.

Bruce deposits Jason on another bed, holding him up on his side, and though Dick can hear him and the others speaking to each other, moving around Jason and working to treat his injuries, Dick doesn't take his eyes off of Jason's face. He's conscious, expression twisted in a grimace, but he's only hanging on by a thread, desperate to not pass out while he still thinks himself in enemy territory. He doesn't recognize that he's been rescued yet. He doesn't know he's safe.

He's afraid. He's in pain. Dick can't take it.

Dick swings his legs over the side of the bed, hands gripping the edge tightly. He takes a few deep breaths, preparing himself, and then heaves himself to his feet. His knees threaten to buckle, his legs shaking, so he forces himself to go slowly, to not _run_ like he wants to.

When he gets close, Bruce takes note of him. "Dick—" he begins in a chastising tone. He probably thinks Dick should still be resting. He probably thinks Dick's just going to get in the way while they try to help Jason.

But Dick ignores him. He places himself at Jason's head, looking down at the younger man's face upside down. He lifts a hand and hesitates for only a moment before he touches, running his fingers through Jason's sweat-matted hair.

Jason's entire body goes rigid, and out of the corner of his eye Dick can see Bruce straightening to tell Dick to back off, but Dick keeps his eyes on Jason's face. He continues to run his fingers through Jason's hair, gently undoing tangles and scratching his nail lightly over his scalp.

"You're safe," Dick whispers, and lifts his other hand to cup Jason's cheek. "You're safe, I promise."

Jason shudders and then collapses, boneless, to the bed, letting the other do what they need to do with no further struggling. The fear slowly fades away. He tilts his head slightly up into Dick's hands, and Dick doesn't stop, smiling down at him softly.

He's safe. Jason is there with them, not locked up and tortured. He's okay.

"Dick," Bruce says quietly.

Dick looks up at him, and then blinks in surprise when he sees Bruce wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of the batsuit, hair damp from a shower. Past him, Tim, Cass, and Damian are all in civilian wear as well. Looking down at Jason shows he's lying flat now, wounds treated and covered in bandages. He's shirtless, but in a pair of sweatpants like B's. There's an IV in the crook of his arm, a pulse oximeter on his finger, a cannula in his nose.

Dick hadn't noticed that they'd finished, or left to go get changed. He was so focused on Jason.

"He's okay," Dick says hoarsely, and Bruce nods.

"He is," he confirms. "He needs a lot of rest, and a couple of the burns might scar, but otherwise he's going to be completely fine."

Dick nods to show he understands and then looks back down at Jason. He's asleep now, has been for a little while. His expression is peaceful.

"Dick," Bruce says again, calling his attention. Dick doesn't look up this time, instead humming to show he's listening. "You should get some rest, too."

Dick shakes his head. "No, I'm good right here."

He hears Bruce sigh, and then walk away, which is surprising; usually Bruce doesn't give in so easily.

But Bruce is back soon enough, this time carrying a chair with him. He places the chair next to Jason and then gently puts his hand over Dick's. "Come on," he says. "If you won't go lie down, then at least sit. You don't have to leave him."

Dick doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to stop touching Jason, afraid that if he lets go the younger man will vanish in a puff of smoke, his rescue just a figment of Dick's imagination. But he understands Bruce's point, and his legs are shaking from having held him up this long.

So, with great reluctance, he draws his fingers from Jason's hair and takes his hand away from Jason's cheek, his palm immediately cold without the contact. He moves to sit down, Bruce stepping out of his way, and then gently takes Jason's hand in his own.

"You're safe," Dick says, as much a reassurance for himself as for Jason. "You're home, and you're safe."

* * *

When Jason wakes up, it takes him a long moment to understand where he is.

He blinks up at the ceiling far above him, recognizing the carved stone that makes up the batcave. Not the rusted metal of the room they'd been keeping him in.

The batcave. How did he get to the batcave? No one knew about the case he was working on, he didn't tell anyone about the sting he was running. So how...?

There's a weight on his chest. Jason shifts his gaze downward and blinks slowly, trying to comprehend the sight in front of him. It's Dick, hair falling over his closed eyes, cheek resting over Jason's heart. He's breathing slow and even, body relaxed with sleep. One of his arms is loosely wrapped over Jason's waist.

Longing sparks in Jason's chest, the same way it does every time he sees Dick. Longing to have him, hold him, be with him. Longing that goes far further back than four months.

He lifts a hand hesitantly, brow furrowing as he stares down at the man resting on him. He doesn't want to risk waking Dick for numerous reasons, but he doesn't have it in him to resist the urge. So he places his hand gently on the top of Dick's head, letting it settle there, feeling something in him relax just a little at having Dick in his hold.

Dick's face twitches, and Jason holds his breath, but Dick's expression smooths out almost immediately, settling easily back into sleep, somehow not seeing Jason's presence and touch as a threat.

Before four months ago, this was never something Jason thought he could have. He's settled for being Dick's friend, maybe even his brother, and accepted that as his place in things. Accepted that that was as good as it was going to get, and made himself happy with it.

And he _was_ happy with it. He might've wanted— _more,_ but the relationship he and Dick had built was a good one. They hung out and worked well together. He got to be someone Dick turned to, someone Dick _trusted_ despite the long, painful history. And that was pretty damn good.

And then four months ago, everything shifted. His stupid gloves got shredded and Dick stupidly removed his own and then Jason like a fucking idiot offered his hand and then—

And then.

Jason had five seconds of beautiful, blissful joy. Five seconds of being ecstatic, because _holy shit._ Dick as his soulmate. _Dick._ The person Jason's wanted for years is truly his, can be his with no repercussions. No one could ever argue it, could ever say they're not good together. Because they're _soulmates._

But then the realization set in. That this is Dick, who is honorable, a truly good man. Who will always do everything for everyone else, and very rarely let them take care of him, in turn. Who would always honor every promise he made, never go back on his word, never turn his back on something he needs to do.

This would be an obligation for Dick. Dick would see that Jason is his soulmate, and despite how Dick's never wanted him that way, never looked at him that way, he'd be with him. He'd do what he was supposed to, because he always does. He always steps up.

But Jason couldn't do that to him. Couldn't trap him in something he doesn't want, just because he thinks he has to do it. Jason can be selfish, just like everyone in the world, but not for this. Not to Dick.

So he pulled back. He made it clear this revelation didn't change anything. He did his best to pretend that he's not a liar. That spending less time with Dick doesn't burn, doesn't ache. That feeling Dick's pain and confusion and not being able to do anything about it doesn't break his heart.

He did his best to forget.

But here Dick is, making that so very difficult. Holding onto him like he's something precious, something Dick doesn't want to lose. Peaceful in his embrace, despite how Jason has hurt him in the past.

Jason doesn't want to let go. Letting go is going to be the hardest thing he's ever had to do.

Dick shifts, eyebrows scrunching, and then his eyes flutter open. His gaze is unfocused as he looks up at Jason, and Jason stares into his blue eyes, at his lips parted with quiet breaths, and fights the desire to pull him up and kiss him senseless.

Dick's gaze focuses as he wakes up further, registering that Jason is looking back at him, and then he sits up and grins at Jason. It's tired—he looks _exhausted_ —but wide and real, joy sparking in his eyes. It makes Jason's breath catch, like it always used to whenever Dick turned that much happiness his way.

"Jay," Dick breaths. "You—you're awake. How are you feeling?"

Until Dick asks, Jason can honestly say he hadn't spared a single moment to consider the state of his body. He does it now, flexing his feet and rolling his shoulders to see if anything along his body lights up with pain. There are some dull aches across his sides and on his stomach, and his back is tingling in a not-entirely-pleasant way, but otherwise he feels okay. He's probably on some pain medication.

"Fine," Jason says, voice coming out a little hoarse. He glances around, but the cave is empty save them. Or, at least, no one's within shouting distance. He wouldn't be surprised if Bruce had a camera feed up to keep an eye on him, though.

"Do you remember what happened?" Dick asks gently. He hasn't removed his arm from where it rests around Jason's waist. His other hand is resting on Jason's bicep. He doesn't even seem to have noticed, but they're impossible for Jason to ignore.

"Some," Jason replies. "I remember getting caught, them asking me a lot of questions..." Oh, the torture. That's how they knew he'd been captured. Dick probably felt it. _Damn._ "I...sorry you had to go through that."

Dick's brow furrows. "Go through what? I'm just really glad you're okay."

"Right," Jason says awkwardly, looking away. He wonders if it'll be possible to get out of here before Bruce or Alfred show up to make him stay. Dick won't be happy about it, but Jason is determined. He should get out of here, before he lets himself get caught up in Dick. He's been keeping his distance for a reason.

"Stop that," Dick snaps.

Jason looks back over at him in surprise, and finds Dick frowning down at him, expression lined with frustration. "Stop what?"

Dick's frown deepens, and he looks away, lips twisting. "Just—stop it. You were tortured. You need to heal, and this is the best place to do it. So if—if it's me being here that is making you check your exit lines, then I'll _go,_ okay? I'll go, you don't have to be around me, I know you don't want—I'll go. Just stay."

Jason blinks. _You don't have to be around me, I know you don't want—_

Dick is standing up. "I'll let Alfred know you're awake; he'll want to check in with you."

His arm is sliding away from Jason, his hand lifting, and Jason feels instantly cold without him. He catches Dick's hand to stop him without meaning to, and Dick pauses, looking back down at him. His eyes are wet. Why are his eyes wet?

"Are you okay?" Jason asks, for lack of anything else to say. He doesn't know _what_ to say.

Dick looks at him incredulously. "Am I—am I okay?" He lets out a breathy laugh, head tipping back to look up at the ceiling. "No, Jason, I'm not okay. I just spent hours feeling you be tortured, and your fear, and the fact that you thought you were alone, and fuck it hurt—"

"I'm sorry," Jason cuts in stiffly. He is; Dick doesn't deserve to have had to experience that. Wouldn't have, if he wasn't stuck with a stupid link to Jason.

Once again, Dick looks at him incredulously. "You're _sorry?_ No, that isn't—I'm not _blaming_ you, Jay, I'm saying that I—" He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I was afraid. I was _terrified,_ because I didn't know if you were gonna be okay, if we'd be able to save you. I was— _God,_ Jason, I was so worried."

Jason blinks. He didn't expect that. Dick's expression turns sad, and he steps closer again, one hand lifting to rest on the top of Jason's head, over his hair.

"I was scared that I was going to lose you. And then B brought you back here and told me you were gonna be okay, and now you're awake and you—you don't want me around, which I guess I've been trying to understand but I was _so scared_ and I just want to be here with you and I _hate_ that you don't want me."

_I know you don't want—_

_I hate that you don't want me._

Jason doesn't understand. Dick's concerned about Jason not...wanting him? Why would Dick hate that? Dick's the one who didn't want him, Jason knows it. _Jason's_ the one with the years-old crush that never went away.

But Dick looks so...helpless. So worried and afraid and sad. His hand is trembling where it sits on Jason's hair.

"I want you," Jason says, and hates himself for it. He's going to ruin everything, this _has_ to ruin everything— "I—fuck, Dick, of _course_ I want you. I've always—I just didn't want to trap you in something. Because this isn't something you ever asked for, you don't need my shit in your life just because the universe said so."

Dick looks down at him with wide eyes. Jason waits for the awkward laugh, the correction that that wasn't what Dick was talking about and while that's _sweet,_ it isn't changing anything.

But instead Dick leans down and kisses him.

It's like every trope all those ridiculous romcoms talk about, the first kiss between soulmates. It's like every good memory Jason has playing over and over again. It's like reading his favorite books. Eating his favorite foods, watching his favorite movies. It's everything good in the world, it's _Dick,_ it's Dick kissing him, his soulmate, and everything is so fucking perfect—

Jason kisses back, eyes sliding shut. He reaches up, cupping a hand around the back of Dick's neck and keeping him close, not giving him any room to pull away. Not that Dick's trying to pull away; his fingers are tangling in Jason's hair and he's kissing him like he's never wanted anything more, like Jason is the whole goddamn world—

Dick breaks the kiss to gasp for air, his breath hot against Jason's cheek. They share the same space as they catch their breaths, and Jason swears he can feel Dick's heart beating in time with his own.

Dick presses his forehead to Jason's, eyes closed and a brilliant grin on his lips, and Jason stares up at him, wondering how he managed to be paired up with someone so beautiful inside and out.

"I love you," Dick says, so confident and _sure,_ and then he's kissing Jason again, not giving Jason the chance to respond.

Not that Jason knows what he'd say, even if he could speak. _I've loved you since I was thirteen. I think you're amazing. I can't believe you want me too. I can't believe you_ love _me too. Please never leave. I'm so sorry I pushed you away. I love you too._

The kisses turn from gentle to desperate, trying to get as close to each other as they possibly can, and distantly Jason knows that has something to do with the whole soulmate thing, the feelings and _needs_ that follow that first kiss, but he can't think of anything but Dick.

The taste of his smile, the beautiful sound of his laughter deep in his chest as Jason wraps his arms around him and tries to pull him impossibly closer.

Dick climbs up onto the bed with him, leg swinging over to straddle Jason's waist. It allows Jason to actually see Dick's shirt for the first time, and he can't help but stare. The red shirt is too large for Dick, hanging slightly off one shoulder and exposing his collarbone. But it's the fact that it's _Jason's_ shirt that has his mouth going dry.

"What?" Dick asks, brow furrowing a little, but he's still smiling. He runs his thumb over Jason's bottom lip. "Do I have something on my face?"

"You're wearing my shirt," Jason says dumbly.

Dick glances down at himself, and then bites his lip almost shyly before looking up at Jason through his eyelashes. Goddammit, he _has_ to know the effect he has when he looks like that. There's no way someone can look like that and not _mean_ to.

"Bruce gave it to me," Dick says. "I think he thought it would be comforting. Do you like it?"

Does he _like_ it? Yes, he very much likes Dick wearing his clothes. From now on Jason wants him to wear absolutely nothing _except_ Jason's clothing.

"You look good," Jason says, voice a little gravelly, and Dick laughs brightly before leaning down. Then they're right back to kissing, and Jason can't help but grin against the other man's mouth.

Their hands explore as the kiss turns lazy, unhurried, _happy._ Jason slides his hands under Dick's t-shirt— _his_ t-shirt—and traces his scars, the curves of his body, the firm press of his muscles. He strokes Dick's back, his calloused fingers dragging across the golden skin and making Dick shiver.

In turn, Dick's hands glide everywhere, his touch light as to not hurt Jason and carefully avoiding any injured areas. He seems perfectly content where he is, overjoyed to just feel Jason, and Jason has to say he feels the exact same. He could live forever on the feeling of Dick, always Dick.

Despite himself, Jason finds himself getting hard. He doesn't want to risk ruining this, doesn't want to spook Dick, so he holds still, trying to not draw attention to it. But can you blame him? Dick is kissing him, straddling him, _touching him_ —letting Jason touch and kiss in turn. It's everything Jason could possibly want, and it's making arousal pool in his gut.

It's not until Dick shifts slightly on top of him that Jason feels a decidedly not-soft bulge, and can't help but grin at the realization that Dick is feeling the exact same thing he is.

Jason settles his hands on Dick's hips and hesitantly grinds upward, testing the waters. Dick gasps, his legs tightening on Jason's sides, and he nips playfully at Jason's bottom lip before grinding down against him.

"I think this is the part," Dick says against his lips, "where I make a really cheesy joke about what you might be packing."

Jason groans at the ridiculous line, but can't stop smiling. He can't remember the last time he smiled so much. "You're an idiot," he says, and Dick grins back at him.

"Yeah," Dick agrees. "But I'm _your_ idiot."

That simple statement takes Jason's breath away, and he kisses Dick again, trying to show him how much he means to him. He uses his grip on Dick's hips to pull him down against him, but Dick seems to have it all handled, rolling his hips just right to bring them together again and again in a way that has sparks shooting up Jason's spine.

"Dick," Jason gasps. "Dick."

Dick presses a light kiss to his lips, then his cheek, then the shell of his ear. "You're injured, so we're gonna have to save some of the bigger stuff for later, but I think I'd really like to get my mouth on you. What do you say to that?"

What does he _say_ to that? Jason is incapable of saying _anything_ to that, his mind filled with the image on Dick between his legs, mouth wrapped around his dick—

If Jason wasn't fully hard before, he _certainly_ is _now._

"Yeah," Jason says hoarsely. "Yeah, okay, I—" He clears his throat. "Yeah, that sounds good."

He feels Dick's smile against the side of his face before the other man kisses him again, one last languid kiss before beginning to slide down Jason's body, settling between his thighs.

Dick nuzzles at his groin over the sweatpants, briefly mouthing at it before hooking his thumbs in the waistband and beginning to pull down, torturously slow.

Jason groans and hears Dick laugh quietly before pulling the sweatpants down and out of the way. Dick hums, sounding pleased, and wraps a hand around the base of Jason's cock. He slowly begins to stroke up and down, and Jason tries to stay still, to not buck up into the touch, to let Dick control the pace. But it's a real challenge when he looks down and sees Dick's face so very close to his cock, eyes half-lidded and looking so fucking gorgeous.

Thankfully, Dick doesn't tease him for too long, instead wrapping his lips around the head of Jason's cock and then in one smooth, slow motion, taking him all the way down.

"Fuck!" Jason curses, hands balling into fists, thighs trembling. Dick just fucking deepthroated him like it was nothing, no build up, no warning. He's deep in the heat of Dick's mouth, his throat, so blissfully tight and hot and _wet_ and Jason digs his nails into his palms to keep from coming.

Dick draws back achingly slowly, and then goes back down just as slow. His hands press at Jason's hips to keep him from bucking up, but still Jason writhes on the bed, groaning between clenched teeth at how good it feels.

Another glance down does absolutely nothing to help his control. Dick's lips are wrapped around his cock, blue eyes shining bright, crinkling at the corners with a smile as he catches Jason looking.

Dick continues just like that, up and down so fucking slowly, easily keeping Jason's hips pinned, driving him absolutely insane.

"Fuck, Dick, come on," Jason groans. "Come on, please—"

Dick hums, and the vibrations go right through Jason, making him moan.

 _"Fuck,_ Dickie, _please—"_

Dick pulls off completely, making Jason whine, which draws another grin out of Dick. God, he's beautiful. "What do you want, Jaybird? Wanna come down my throat?"

Jason groans again. Fucking _dammit,_ he's the devil, sin incarnate—

"Fucking Christ, you—"

Dick licks a strip from the head of Jason's cock down to the base, making Jason's words cut off with a gasp.

"What was that?" Dick asks innocently. "I like that word you were using before, Jay. Use it again."

Jason has to take a few deep breaths to clear his head enough to understand what Dick's talking about, and then his cheeks go bright red with embarrassment.

But he does as he's told.

"Please, _please,_ Dick, Dickie, please—"

"Good boy," Dick purrs, and Jason whines again, the sound turning sharp when Dick once again takes him into his mouth, all the way to the hilt in one ridiculously impressive motion.

He goes faster this time, fucking his throat on Jason's length. His hands still keep Jason's hips pinned, stronger than most usually give Dick credit for, making Jason completely helpless in a way he didn't think he'd like, but does.

He can feel himself getting close, gasping on every breath as Dick takes him down again and again and again—

"Dickie, I'm gonna—I'm—"

But Dick doesn't pull back, instead picking up the pace, and then Jason's coming and Dick is swallowing it all down—

Jason collapses, boneless, sucking in air desperately. His head is spinning. Dick just gave him a blowjob. Dick Grayson just _deepthroated him_ and then let him come down his throat. How is this Jason's life? How did he manage to win this?

Dick crawls back up Jason's body and kisses him deeply, hands braced to either side of Jason's head. Jason groans, tasting himself on Dick's tongue. He lifts a hand, sliding it through Dick's hair and tightening his grip, tugging sharply at the strands. Dick moans and rolls his hips downward.

Once, when Roy was very drunk, he shared with Jason some of the things Dick liked in bed when the pair of them used to hook up when they were younger. Those things may or may not have been seared permanently in Jason's memory, not that he ever thought he'd have the chance to put the knowledge to good use.

He's going to get to put all of it to use now. Dick kissed him, said he _loves_ him, wants him, and there's not a chance in hell Jason is ever letting him go. Dick's his now, and he's going to give him everything.

"Can—Can I—?" Dick says, voice breathless, hips rocking downward.

"Yes," Jason says, not caring what specifically Dick means, just that the answer is _yes._

Dick's hands fumble with the band of his pajama pants, pulling out his hard cock. Jason's mouth waters a little, picturing returning the favor, and Dick smiles at him, eyes crinkling.

"Another time," Dick promises. He takes Jason's hand in his and wraps their intertwined fingers around his cock, letting out a breathy little moan when Jason gets with the program and tightens his grip, stroking up and down. His other hand is still tangled in Dick's hair, and he tugs, gripping tightly. Dick gasps, hips jerking up.

A few more strokes of Jason's hand has Dick coming apart, a shudder running through his body, head tipping back with a low moan. Jason doesn't let go, watching him avidly, memorizing the way Dick looks as he comes.

Dick slumps forward against him, still careful of Jason's injuries, and kisses Jason softly, cradling his face in his hands like he's something precious. Jason runs his hands up and down Dick's back, holding him close.

"I love you," Dick whispers, tucking his face into Jason's neck.

Jason gently runs his fingers through Dick's hair and presses a kiss to his forehead.

He can't bring himself to say it back. Not yet. He's spent so long bottling that up, telling himself it could never happen, never work, Dick would never want him. He spent years coming to terms with never saying those words to Dick, never being able to feel that way or let Dick know it. It's hard to turn off that thinking after getting so used to it.

So instead he holds Dick tightly and kisses him again, trying to convey how much he means to him. For now, it will have to be good enough.

They've got time, after all.


End file.
